


Rose Colored Glasses

by the_nokken



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Is Not A Virgin, Bathtubs, Bubble Bath, Demon Summoning, Embarrassment, First Kiss, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Sex, Pining, Romantic Fluff, Secretly a Virgin, The Ineffable Plan (Good Omens), Virgin Crowley (Good Omens), but almost sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-26 03:21:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20037067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_nokken/pseuds/the_nokken
Summary: Aziraphale is pining for his favorite demon, it's so hard to tell if someone (much less a demon) loves you back. Insert some shenanigans involving the accidental summoning of a certain snakelike demon into his bathtub and Aziraphale finds himself utterly embarrassed. Edit: this was inspired by a tumblr post by steveandbucky and an instagram comic based on the text post by vacuumsflowerfield.





	Rose Colored Glasses

Aziraphale was an angel, yes. But he was not a virgin. Contrary to popular belief, the Almighty was not anti-sex. The Almighty really didn’t care what you were up to if both parties were consenting and happy. True, Aziraphale mused, turning the tap on in the bath, most angels didn’t partake in carnal acts- much less with humans- but to him there was something so beautiful in the way that humans seek out pleasure and indulgence. To Aziraphale, he loved the feeling of a mutual love, two (or more) people (or beings) coming together for the sake of pleasure, it was its own form of love and it was  _ wonderful _ . 

As the bathtub filled with steaming water, the angel watched with a soft smile playing about his mouth. It was a curious feeling, love. There was the sweet lemony feeling of new love, honey thick and shiny; the more mellow, dusty rose glassiness of a love between people going back years, sometimes decades; the Greeks came close, they had seven words for seven different kinds of love. There were actually closer to 256 different kinds of love, but any human language lacked the barest capacity to come close to describing the first 38. 

One thing Aziraphale found himself thinking about more and more often over the last several centuries (and millennia, as well as months, weeks, days, and hours, -alright- minutes, he admitted, taking a sip from a mug of tea) was the love he felt for Crowley. You can’t go around knowing someone for 6000 years without feeling some form of love for them. 

Aziraphale couldn’t remember the first time he realized he loved Crowley, perhaps it was when Crowley had managed to save his favorite book from the burning of that stupendous library at Alexandria (both sides vehemently denied their responsibility for this, and more often than not most horrible events were due to humans being downright horrible to each other and most anything around them), or maybe it was the way he had been so aghast at the thought that the Almighty was really going to let so many innocent people die in a pointless flood. Most likely, it had always been there, since that first night at the gate, and it was the kind of love that had only grown over time, winding its way through the long millennia of an unlikely friendship. 

Now, now Aziraphale was sure that his love was something more, something deeper. For better or for worse, they always had each other. Aziraphale was more than sure that he felt some complex form of romantic, all consuming, long-lasting, eternal love for the demon in question. Perhaps a part of him always had. 

And as he mused to himself, slipping out of his fluffy bathrobe and sinking gently into the bubble bath, he felt sure that Crowley felt the same. It was hard to read love from demons, nearly impossible really, but sometimes, when they were having lunch or sharing a bottle of wine, the angel felt almost certain that Crowley loved him. It was in the way that Crowley looked at him, the way that he smiled, the way that he wasted demonic miracle after demonic miracle on the angel. 

Yes, he had Crowley. He probably always would, as is the nature of eternity. But without knowing how Crowley felt for certain… Aziraphale sighed, miracling the candles to burst into flame around the comfortable and cozy bathroom. Sometimes he felt so lonely. They had known each other for millennia, he should probably confess at some point. The timing was right, the world still turned, disaster had been averted. 

And other times (such as this exact moment, surrounded by candles and bubbles, with a clear conscience knowing that the apocalypse had been averted) he missed the physical company of a person. He was half hard now, almost uncomfortably warm (because of the hot water, surely), and would kill to have someone [1], anyone (no, not anyone) here with him. 

“If only Crowley were here now…” Aziraphale muttered, reaching for his mug of tea at the same moment that there was a popping noise, a loud splash that sent water and bubbles spilling onto the tiled floor, his mug was suddenly filled with soapy water as he was thoroughly splashed. 

“What the dev-!” There was a tall, well dressed, soaking wet, and confused demon sitting in Aziraphale’s bathtub. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale was dumbfounded, and suddenly very aware of his current state of dress. Dropping his mug so it sank to the bottom of the bathtub. 

“Angel?!” Crowley sputtered, looking around, his mouth open. “How the bloody fuck did I get here? In your bathtub? Are you-” Crowley looked down at the ( _ thank the Almighty for bubble bath [2] _ , Aziraphale thought) sudsy water. 

“I am taking a bath, my dear boy.” Aziraphale said with as much dignity as he could, seeing as he was nearly beet red with embarrassment. Hurriedly he gathered several armfulls of bubbles and arranged them more carefully around himself, he wasn’t a virgin, but he was modest. 

“Did you- did you  _ ssssummon  _ me?” Crowley raised an eyebrow and one corner of his mouth quirked up in a devilish grin [3]. Inside Crowley was a mess of nerves and confusion (hence the hissing, it was a nervous tic.), but on the outside he did his best to mask the squiggly-squirming turmoil with teasing seduction. If Aziraphale hadn’t been a wriggling-wiggling mess of embarrassment at that moment he most definitely would have seen through the ruse, alas, the angel was more than a bit of a mess on a good day. And today Was Not a good day. 

“I, well, I,” Aziraphale closed his eyes, exhaled, and cleared his throat. “I suppose I did. On accident. Mind you. I wasn’t- I didn’t…  _ intend  _ to, I can assure you, my dear boy, I- I’m dreadfully sorry.” 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley leaned forward, water beginning to slosh over the sides of the tub, his tongue darted between his smiling lips. “Are you trying to seduce me?” 

“NO!” Aziraphale squeaked quickly, pulling his knees against his chest and attempting to shrink as far back as possible given the confines of the tub. “I mean, no, don’t be ridiculous. Angels don’t,  _ seduce _ . That’s your job. But regardless, I’m simply having a bath, I have no idea why you’re here.” 

“Right,” Crowley drawled, stretching his legs out as much as he could and leaning uncomfortably back against the tap, undoing the top button of his shirt. Aziraphale swallowed and tried to pretend not to notice. “So, you’re taking a bath, and I just randomly pop up. In the bath, with you. Surrounded by rose scented candles?” He looked taken aback, amusement on his handsome features. “What are you, a maiden about to lose your virtue on prom night?” 

“That was lost long ago I’m afraid.” Aziraphale said, bemused and a little sheepish. “I just like roses.” 

For the first time in about 60 years, Aziraphale had struck Crowley speechless. The demon’s mouth hung open limply, jaw slack. If there had been a single fly in the angel’s spotless flat, it would have easily flown into Crowley’s mouth without a single bit of trouble. 

“Was it the roses? Oh dear, I do know it’s a bit cliche, but they smell so soft and-” Aziraphale prattled on, his cheeks burning scarlet. 

“It bloody well wasn’t the roses.” Crowley said, his voice hoarse, hands still resting on the second button of his shirt, frozen. “Angel, what the fuck am I doing here in your tub?” His face was unreadable-  _ those blasted sunglasses _ , Aziraphale thought, his anxiety mounting. "You're not as innocent as you had me believe, angel." 

“I, well.” He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He felt like he was coming apart, something unraveling. Everything felt too much, too bright, too warm, too confined. Baking soda and lemon juice in a sealed jar. “Crowley. I  _ was  _ thinking of you. I was thinking-” 

Aziraphale opened his blue eyes, looking at Crowley with as much dignity as he could muster. “I was thinking about how much I think about you. About your hair, your golden eyes, your effortless confidence. I was thinking about how sometimes, I look at you and it reminds me of how short 6,000 years can feel. I was thinking about your hands, and how badly I wanted you with me, I was-” cut off by a crushing kiss, as gentle as it was filled with 6,000 years of pent up need and desire finally spoken aloud. 

When they finally broke apart, Crowley’s hands still resting on Aziraphale’s knees, there were faint tracks of tears falling from underneath the demon’s glasses. Aziraphale reached up and brushed them away with the soft pad of his thumb, a careful smile on his lips. 

“Angel.” Crowley began, his voice little more than a whisper in the candlelight of the bathroom. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that, how long I’ve been wanting to do that. Millennia. Eons. Too long to clearly remember the first time I knew I needed to kiss you.” 

“What prevented you, my dear?” 

“I didn’t think you’d ever want me to.” Crowley took off his glasses, swiping at his eyes with a damp and soapy sleeve. “I’m a demon. I’m not, well, I’m not  _ good. _ ” 

“Crowley…” Aziraphale moved forward so that their faces were mere inches apart. He bit his lip, a small amount of golden blood welling up in his mouth, liquid sunshine. “Good and evil are merely two ways of looking at the same side of a coin. You’ve done lots of good things, I’ve done my share of bad things. Sometimes the Almighty is flawed and sometimes the people downstairs do more good than harm when it all comes down to it. But neither of that changes the fact that I love you.” 

“You love me?” Crowley was grinning, all pointed teeth and infernal charm once again. 

“Well, yes.” Aziraphale said, a little bit breathless. How was he possibly getting hot and bothered again? It had to be the candles. “I am. I mean, why else would I have accidentally summoned you into my bath?” 

“‘Accidentally’.” Crowley leaned forward, their noses almost touching. Merely a breath apart. 

This time Aziraphale closed the short space between them, practically melting into the demon’s lips. Their second kiss was rougher, it was  _ more _ , more lips, more teeth, more tongue, more passion and desire and love than Aziraphale could remember having in a partner. He heard Crowley moan against his mouth, and half crawled onto the demon’s lap, wrapping his legs around Crowley’s waist. 

“Hello.” Azriaphale murmured after the two broke apart, his arms around the demon’s neck, their noses nearly touching. 

“Hi.” Crowley looked breathless, his lips were pink and he was breathing heavily. 

“Should we move somewhere a bit more comfortable?” The angel muttered, seductively while running a hand down Crowley's chest. 

“Um.” Crowley bit his lip and looked away. “I haven’t actually, er, done anything, like this.” 

“Oh,” Aziraphale nodded, understanding. He was a little surprised, who would have expected to find a virginal demon and a far from innocent angel? “Do you want to?” 

“Would you be upset if I said no? I mean, it's not that I don't want to.” That much was obvious to Aziraphale even through Crowley's waterlogged jeans. "I just don't think I want to yet." 

“Of course not.” Aziraphale said, gently putting a hand on Crowley’s chin and moving his head so that their eyes met. “My dear, we can go as slow as you want. I don’t want you to feel pressured.” 

“Thanks angel,” Crowley pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “Now, we can definitely move somewhere more comfortable, contrary to popular belief, sopping wet jeans and boots are not fun to wear.” 

“Ah, yes, one moment.” Aziraphale said sheepishly, in the blink of an eye the couple was seated comfortably on the angel’s soft blue couch, a fire crackling merrily in the grate, each one of them wearing a differently colored pair of tartan pajamas and holding matching mugs of cocoa. 

“Will you ever give up the tartan?” 

“No, I like it.” 

“I like you.” 

“I like you too,” Aziraphale smiled, scooting over to be right next to Crowley, snuggling down against his side. 

“Can we just stay like this awhile?” Crowley put an arm around the angel’s shoulders, pulling him into a snug embrace ( _ like a gentle constrictor,  _ Aziraphale couldn’t help himself thinking, amused.). 

“I’d like nothing more.” Aziraphale sighed, closing his eyes. 

And they did. Crowley was perpetually cold, and Aziraphale radiated warmth, the demon luxuriated, not knowing what he did to be quite so fortunate as to have the angel next to him. Aziraphale loved love, love was warm and soft, love was comfortable and familiar while still feeling new, love was wearing a pair of perfectly fitted red tartan and had similar auburn hair. Aziraphale wasn’t sure what he did to be able to win the love of a demon, but he was happy. Afterall, they had each other for going on 6,000 years, what was another 6,000 to either of them? Somewhere, far away, too distant for any person, demon, or angel, the Almighty saw this tableau, and smiled [4] . This was right. 

1] Well, not _kill_ in the literal sense of the word. But in the charmingly inappropriate way that humans say they would kill for a sandwich even if they had had breakfast only two or three hours earlier and probably weren’t entirely hungry. In Aziraphale’s case, however, replace sandwich with a consenting sexual partner and breakfast being a certain kind and gentle television personality-to-be some decades ago. 

2] Little did Aziraphale know it was actually Crowley who had come up with bubble bath, and most other useless bathroom and grooming products that only gave people a deeper sense of their own vanity. Crowley also just enjoyed bubbles. 

3]Was it a cliche use of the adjective? Yes, it was, Aziraphale was well aware. But the thing about Crowley is that he seemed to be made to exude only the air of devilishness even when he wasn’t trying, it was the only entirely accurate descriptor for at least 50% of his actions and more often equal 110%. 

4] In all actuality, the Almighty was very near tears at this point and quite close to a full blown meltdown, she had been trying for over 6,000 years to set up these two oblivious idiots and finally (_finally_) they had realized their feelings were mutual. This was in fact the ineffable plan, well, one of them. She was hoping they would serve as an example of what she intended to happen between Heaven and Hell, a kind and charming demon, and an angel who was just a little bit of a bastard. 


End file.
